I am tired of violence and vitriol and bad news. I bet you are, too. So a couple of days ago I posed a fun question to my Facebook friends. I mean, really, it was about fun. I asked them to tell me the most fun they had ever had without breaking the law or taking off their clothes.
I love to travel. I love getting home even more.
I am bad to procrastinate. Always have been. When I was in the eleventh grade I missed a chance to see Pistol Pete Maravich play because I had put off doing a project for Mrs. Meyer’s world history class until the last minute and had to stay home and make a poster about the Middle Ages.
How are you going to cook your ham for Easter?
I was standing in the wings at the Ryman Auditorium Thursday and found myself in awe of the ghosts there. By ghosts I mean the spirits of all the magnificent country artists who had stood right there, in the same spot I occupied, waiting for their opportunity to grace that hallowed stage for the first time — or the hundredth.
Nothing beats revising some old, enjoyable meals.
I am coming to you today from Tiberius, on the Sea of Galilee., and what a week I am having. Remember when you used to write postcards from the beach that would get home before you did? Sure you do. They all read, “Having a great time; wish you were here. Well, I am having a great time, and I do wish you were here. I wish everyone could be here in the land where Jesus walked and taught and performed miracles.
Andy Warhol predicted that in the future, everyone would get his — or her — 15 minutes of fame. Another way of putting it might be that every dog will have his day. My friend, Jesse Kenney, had his two weeks ago at the Georgia-Auburn basketball game.
Ah, Valentine’s Day. The romantic holiday when we honor St. Hallmark and line the coffers of florists everywhere. You talk about price gouging? I don’t want to hear about Home Depot increasing the prices of plywood and generators after a storm until somebody does something about the price of a dozen roses being jacked up about 400 percent in the middle of February every year.
About a billion-and-a-half Chinese couldn’t care less about what happens in Phoenix this weekend. As a matter of fact, I don’t much care myself, but there are those amongst us who won’t sleep a wink Saturday night because they will be so hepped up about what is going to happen on Sunday, and I ain’t talking about church, either, not even the one where I am preaching.
We live in a funny world. Yes, ha, ha funny, but strange funny, too. There are just so many contradictions in our world — things to me that just don’t make a lick of sense. Take the president of the United States. Please.
Wow. Education seems to be all over the news in the state of Georgia this week, and I haven’t seen a lot of positive comments. Go figure.
A few of my former students, home from college, came by to visit me last week. I love seeing the kids I was able to torment in the name of education. Just kidding. Just kidding. But it really does make me feel good when the kids care enough to stop by.
It’s almost Christmas, which is so special for so many reasons.
I got together with some old teacher friends last week and we began waxing nostalgic about the good old days—back when teaching was more fun because we had more freedom in the classroom.
Warren lived through his ordeal with as much courage and fortitude as anyone I have ever known. A devout Christian, he was at church every week, no matter how bad he might have felt.
On Thursday night President Obama took a big step toward making that fundamental change that so many of us had feared since he first took office in 2009. He faced the nation and announced that he intended to circumvent Congress, the Constitution and 227 years of history and tradition by declaring immediate amnesty for 5 million illegal immigrants.
I don’t know how they do it. Yankees, I mean. I will admit that it is time to give the devil his due. I am speaking of the hearty folks from the frozen tundra of our northernmost states — the people in Cleveland and Buffalo and Green Bay, Wis., who go out in weather that is fit for neither man nor beast and sit and watch football.
Tuesday is Veterans Day, and without that long line of men and women who have stood in harm’s way to protect our freedoms, we would have none.
I have three longstanding rules. I don’t do book reviews. I don’t do any Christmas shopping until the last minute. I don’t sing Christmas carols until the Great Tree bursts into light on Thanksgiving night.
I hate to have to admit this, but I cannot watch playoff baseball anymore. Not a whole game. I just can’t. I hate to admit this — and this is coming from a person’s whose oldest sports memory is of Yogi Berra jumping astride Don Larson after the last strike in the only perfect game in World Series history — but I find the games terribly tedious and terribly boring.
OK. I haven’t given anyone a quiz in a long time. What do “Just the facts, ma’am,” “Sorry about that, Chief,” and “What you talking ‘bout, Willis?” have in common?
I found myself right in the middle of a rare 10-day stint at home Friday and found it impossible to ignore, any longer, my lovely wife Lisa’s extensive honey-do list.
When I first saw the news about Robin Williams being found dead, it didn’t really affect me too much.
In case y’all were wondering, it is dog days again. I just went for a two-mile walk — at 9:30 in the morning — and lost a bout four pounds of water weight from perspiring. I used to sweat, back before I got so sophisticated.
It’s dega vu all over again! That’s how Yogi put it and Yogi is a smart man, despite the fact that he has become a cult hero of sorts for the way he expresses himself in regards to the English language.
The Internet has made encyclopedias obsolete and there may come a day when it does the same to recorded music, magazines and newspapers.
I never dreamed that the day would actually come when someone asked me, “What do you do for a living?” and I could answer, “Travel the world.”
Sometimes something happens so vile and vicious that it breaks through the very fog of my unawareness and makes itself known. Such was the case Thursday when I first got an inkling that a Malaysian passenger jet had crashed — or something.
People are always asking me, “What do you miss most when you are on the road?”
In a former life, when I was a history teacher, I used to play a word association game with my students when we studied the closing of the American frontier. They weren’t as well versed in all things western as I was at their tender ages, but they came up with some pretty impressive lists. Of course, I taught some pretty impressive kids.
Did you get to watch fireworks on the 4th of July? I hope so. I love fireworks shows and have seen some dandy ones in my day — on Independence Day and at other times.
When Christopher Columbus arrived in what would come to be known as the Americas in 1492 — and I don’t really care how many Norsemen may or may not have already been here — there was population of approximately 75 million people living here, including 10 million living in the area that now comprises the United States. Columbus erroneously called them Indians because he believed he was in the East Indies.
So it’s Father’s Day and I know it does not have the same impact that Mother’s Day has on card and flower sending, gift buying and celebrating in general — which s OK. We are just men. We get that. No, really. We do.
Today I am ready to endorse Jack Kingston in the July 22 Republican primary runoff.
I broke my own rule Thursday night and I am glad I did. I accepted a speaking engagement inside the perimeter.
My lovely wife, Lisa, and I are what you might call climatically incompatible.
If you still have your mom this Mother’s Day, please cherish her.
I spent the first 22 Easters of my life, as well as I can remember, in Porterdale. I always looked forward to attending Sunrise Service at Julia A. Porter United Methodist Church, even before it was united.
I don’t know what it is about these two weeks in April, but I know that they have always led to significant drama in the history of this great country.
I went to bed Thursday night with a nice and shiny black SUV in my driveway. I woke up with a sickening yellow SUV in my driveway. Like a sneak attack from above the pollen season is upon us.
This week I have really realized just how much I really do miss teaching the history of our country to really smart teenagers
We buried Lewis Grizzard twenty years ago. It doesn’t seem possible, does it? That it has been that long?
Winston Churchill called Russia a riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma. Sir Winston wasn’t just whistling Dixie.
I set out 40 days ago on a fast of my own. I wasn’t going to give up eating entirely, but I was giving up all red meat, all added sugar — including drinks — all gluten, which means all bread and wheat products, and all dairy products. In other words, if it tasted good, I couldn’t have it.
Somewhere along the way the state of Georgia is going to have to decide that having students in school, in front of their teachers, is the only way to improve education. I just don’t think that day will occur between now and the end of May.
I have done something that I vowed I would not do. I have succumbed to the latest fad. I have gone gluten free. I have never felt better.
The thing that got me thinking, as I was unloading the dishwasher, was the contrast between what we have eaten off of since we set up housekeeping and what my mama had.
It seems like I have been to a lot of funerals lately, which tells me something about myself
I believe wholeheartedly in what Phoenix Pass is doing. So here is what you can do for me. You can call 770-760-1020 and buy your tickets. They are $25 apiece and every dime goes to do the work of Phoenix Pass. Every dime